Poppy: Bloodclan After The Battle
by Bane of Bryinel
Summary: Bloodclan has retreated into twolegplace after the rout in the forest. But a dangerous cult threatens their survival. Will they survive, or will they fall? Rated T for strange suggestive themes and brief intense violence.


Scourge was dead three moons, two weeks and five days when it started. Something was moving in the city, something no one could talk about, but everyone felt it. Poppy walked quietly down the alley, hunger nipping at her stomach. The last whispers of frost held the sky, and the puddles chapped her paws. Under the stony eaves of a shuttered butchers she coughed and sniffed about, desperate for a scrap, a bone, anything. It was not to be. A large muscular slate gray tom approached on a wall.

"Rank?" he mewed gruffly.

"Undercollar, sir." she said, her nose brushing the ground.

"Come along, it's time for the evening muster." Following the doublecollar (a cat of high rank), she trailed through the sleeping city to the pits. Seventy human seasons ago, during the blitz, the country residents would go down in the pits to escape bombs. Now the chambers sat unused and forgotten, to be occupied by the colony of hardscrabble cats that called themselves Bloodclan.

Every morning and night the cats, young and old, would appear in the main hole and line up in order of rank. Mark Leader, Triplecollar, Doublecollar, Collar, Undercollar. Cats that were sick or nursing were not excused. They would come anyway, this was when rations were distributed.

"Unfortunately, our food supply has been cut again. Everyone under Doublecollar will not get any."

Growls and murmurs of disappointment rippled through the ranks, but nobeast seemed too surprised. Only a small, hollow-cheeked she-cat pushed to the front, her stomach full of kits only several days off. With a wavering, thin meow, she shouted up at the leader, a cat called Ice.

"Not again! I've been in this clan since it's founding! I was Scourge's mate! I bore him three litters, all died in the frost and filth! Now you deny me food. If Scourge were alive, I would have some food!" Her eyes full of fury, she raised the fur along her bony back, her claws scraping the brick floor.

Everyone stood transfixed, not daring to break the line. Ice whispered to Jag, his second, before turning with an eerie calm.

"If you were not a mother heavy with kits, you would be dead where you stand. Nobeast calls me a mouse-brain and lives! If you wish to challenge me, call you mate forward."

"I cannot call him from where he went." her voice was full of grief. "I will fight for him. Ice, leader of Bloodclan, you are challenged!"

Her voice echoed through the chambers, and a shadow passed on Ice's face. He growled.

"Go back to your nest, foxheart. I have spared you and your mewling brood."

She stalked back into the catacombs on unsteady paws. Slowly the crowds started to disperse. Soon the room was empty, except for Scourge and Bone's blood soaked collars enshrined on coat pegs above the leader's seat.

"I knew he wouldn't do it. Greenhorn doesn't have the balls to do it."

Poppy started at the rusty mew behind her. She turned to see an old, paunchy red tom sitting behind her.

"Oh, Clay. It's only you. He was surprisingly agile for a cat his age, but his intelligence was even greater. Dumb cats, or even average cats did not reach the age he had. He was hardly geriatric, but a respected warrior that had been around the block.

"What do you mean?" She mewed.

"He wouldn't kill a pregnant she-cat in front of everybeast. He wouldn't do that in front of his guard. If he did that, there would be riots. As it is, he still seems soft, but it's better than mutiny."

Sharp cat, Clay. He was not a very tactful cat, but such things are not always the most important. Several other cats showed up. Tusker, a lithe black Tripecollar tom, and a patchy she-cat named, well, Patches. Tusker was holding a chicken wing in his mouth, it's smell tantalizing.

"Want to share?"

"You kidding? Of course!" They split it up into four pieces. There were only a few bites each, but Poppy felt filled up to bursting.

"Wuff, I must have a shrunken stomach. That filled me up good." She said. She had one bite left. "I'm gonna give this to that cat who kicked up a ruckus earlier. She'll need it more than me." She padded over to the empty tire that was covered with a rag drape. An older she-cat stood guard outside the door, with exposed claws and a look of death on her face.

"Whaddya want?! Ice send you, that sonofa-"

Oh, no, I wanted to bring her this food-"

"I'll take it to her. She's sleeping."

Then she went into the tire and ignored her proddings.

Chapter One: Rosie

The next day, Poppy went out with Clay to forage for more food she wouldn't get to taste herself. They finally wound up behind a wall. On the other side was a terrible smell, a smell of rot.

A smell of death. Clay wrinkled his nose.

"You go first."

Slowly, Poppy climbed a pile of boxes, dreading what she would find. In the town murders where not uncommon, a simple method of solving disputes sanctioned by Ice. But the smell of blood and gore was so, so _overwhelming_ that Poppy felt close to vomiting. Every hair on end, she poked her head over the wall.

Lying on the ground was the body of a young cat, a cream colored she-cat with green eyes. Her head hung by a mouse-whisker of flesh. Poppy lurched. She barely noticed Clay had settled himself next to her, paled.

"What kind of sadist-"

"Dog. It has to be. No cat, no matter how deranged would do that."

A small mottled tom slowly limped out of the shadows, seemingly unaffected by the carnage around him. He started wiping the blood up with a ball of rags. Then, without word or affect, he nosed the body down a storm drain full of melt water and watched it disappear.

"He's no rose himself. Cutter's been on him." Whispered Clay. "Hey you!"

The cat looked up, eyes full of terror, and darted off down the alley. Suddenly Tusker exploded over the wall behind them, scattering boxes and old toasters.

"Murderer! After him!"

Poppy dove off the platform and went after him. She heard Clay slip on a patch of blood and let loose a stream of obscenities. Patches ran along an adjacent roof top, leaping gable and weather vane. Tusker screeched.

"DIVE LEFT!"

Poppy barely missed a bicycle that clattered past. The gray cat had faltered but kept running. She was gaining on it, she knew, but it ran fearless and full-lunged, tail streaming and ears pasted back. Tusker let out a shriek and pulled his legs up, connecting with only tail. He landed hard and groaned.

A grimy Clay and winded Patches ran up.

"You okay?" Mewed Patches with concern.

"Ugh, awp. Fine. Just let me catch my breath."

"Better we catch him! Weirdo. Crazies make the town dangerous for Bloodclan." Said Clay.

"Was it ever safe?" Tusker said.

"Good point."

"What part of town are we in, anyway? I've never been here."

Around them large ugly, soot stained buildings belched ash. They were huge and angular, casting mammoth shapes into the sky.

"Welcome to the claws." Said Clay grimly.

"They do look like giant paws framing the sky." Said Tusker. He was a poetic sort of cat.

Patches sniffed the ground.

"I can smell blood. I think we can track him."

"Is that good news or bad?" Asked Poppy.

"We'll see." Said Patches.

They followed the trail through the curving streets, broken glass poking their paws and shadowy cats glaring at them suspiciously. But they met no resistance and eventually wound up outside a shuttered tool and die factory.

"It seems empty." Said Clay. Poppy followed the side of the building until they found a door off it's hinges. Leaping carefully over the threshold, Poppy wandered into the musty factory. Huge and lethal looking drill presses lines the walls, glaring down at her under a thick layer of dust. One seemed very. . . furry. She jumped nimbly up and kneaded it with paws. To her horror it was a feline pelt. It was dried and had a defleshed skull placed carefully on it like a shrine. She backed up. Another was below her. Finally picking her way down she saw Tusker holding a jeweled collar.

" _What_ is that?"

"I found it under a pallet crate."

"Um, are there kittypets here?"

"I guess so."

Suddenly a creaking emanated from a platform high in the rafters. A large golden tomcat rolled over and blinked sleepily.

"Whuzzat? Who's there?"

A spark of alarm shot up Poppy's spine. Patches was lying on a drill press, out in the open. Instantly she went limp and closed her eyes, resembling a pelt from a distance. After a while, the golden cat went back to sleep.

"Holy sweet Scourge." Hissed Clay.

"Let's come back tonight." Poppy said eagerly.

Chapter Two: Shabbal

That night Tusker woke Poppy with a nudge. She silently nodded and got to her feet. Outside Clay rubbed his eyes and Patches yawned. The sentry sat near the edge of the access road, his back to them. Tusker motioned to him with his tail and approached while Patches hid them in a bush.

"Rank?" Tusker said as flatly as he could.

"Collar, sir." The cat said meekly.

"Alright now you get out of here, you hear?" he hissed.

'Whu- Oh, okay sir!" he scrambled as fast as he could, but Tusker swatted his butt with his claws anyway. He let out a squeal and ran down the steps inside. After he was gone, Tusker started laughing.

You are really scary sometimes, you know that?" Said Patches. Tusker grinned. Making their way back to the factory, Poppy saw to her surprise the factory had been lit brightly and it was full of cats.

"We can see in from this trash can. Up here, guys." said Clay. They jumped onto the dumpster. In side it was brightly lit and full of cats. They all stood perfectly still, and they all chanted the same thing.

"Hail. . .Shabbal. . .Hail. . .Shabbal. . ." They intoned. The yellow cat seen earlier was seated on a pile of pallet crates perhaps ten feet tall. He held his head high and seemed quite regal. Around one paw was the looped handle of a leash. On the other side was a fluffy kittypet, wearing a jeweled collar like Tusker had found earlier. She had five toes on each foot, noted Poppy curiously. At her paws lay a bounty of food, the likes of which Poppy hadn't seen in many moons.

"Food!" Tusker yelped. Patches clapped a paw over his drooling muzzle.

He kicked an empty milk carton in frustration but didn't struggle. Inside the large cat, Presumably Shabbal cleared his mouth.

"For many weeks you have come to me. Now I must explain all I have said. Observe."

He too was polydactyl, and with no small effort, he picked up a stick in his paw.

"MOVE MOVE I CAN'T FREAKING SEE!" yowled Tusker.

"What am I seeing? Only twolegs can do that!" Said Poppy. Shabbal continued his explanation.

"You see, we are closer to twolegs. If we weed out this lesser race, then in the end, twolegs must accept us! We will have the world to share, two great creatures standing side by side!"

Cheers drowned him out, and more chanting.

"So who will step forward to breed with this kittypet of our order?" He asked, gesturing to the cat next to him. One young fool stood, eyes shining. "You do know the punishments that you shall suffer if you fail in your duty?"

"I do. If I fail, they shall punish me with the cutter. All the world shall look upon my scars and I shall feel shame."

"Did he just say what I thought he said!?" Said Clay. Poppy nodded. That explained the cat they saw earlier.

"Step forward, blessed brother."

The room seemed to grow brighter as he approached, the chanting grew louder. A chorus of caterwauling and chanting drowned out the sound of Poppy falling off the trashcan and the cats running terrified back home.

"So what you're saying is that a kinky cult has set up shop and is having murderous cult meetings with eugenics and hypnosis?" said Jag incredulously.

"Yes." Said Tusker, beaming.

Jag sighed a deep sigh like this was not the craziest thing he had ever been told. It probably wasn't.

"So what do want for me to do about it? You should go to your mark leader instead of me."

He started to leave, but Clay grabbed his tail.

"Look. You owe me a lot. Just do a solid for me, once." He gave a Jag a deep look.

"Alright, fine." Jag grumbled.

Patches carefully pulled out the jeweled collar. Jag stared at it a second.

"This is serious."

Chapter Three: First Blood

Ice was asleep. Water from melting snow dripped off an old scarf and pooled in front of him. Sneezing, he looked up. Jag was gone. _He's gone out to poop._ Ice stretched, his stomach was smooth, his ribs covered with a healthy dose of skin. Even though his clan was starving, he never missed a meal. He deserved it, running a clan was hard work. He would have to get some foxspawn to go patch the hole in his den. When he looked out over the assembled cats, he noticed only the infirm and old were there. Ice bristled. Mutiny?! An older she-cat, the one who was watching over the pregnant she-cat approached.

"Where in Scourge's name have all my soldiers gone?"

With a grin, she replied.

"They all went off under Jag to fight some upstart or whatever."

"Where?"

"The claws, Ice."

"Dammit. They'll die for this."

"Who will do the killing? You're losing control of your clan."

Slowly, Jag wound his way through the early morning streets. Poppy stood next to him, leading the powerful cat to the factory. She sighed. Ice would flip when they got back, but what could they do? Clay worked his way up to her. He smiled a little.

"That cat that yelled at Ice is birthing today. It's going to be three."

Poppy sighed and looked down.

"More starving mouths."

Jag's growl interrupted their grim exchange. Shadows slipped from all sides as they passed a garage. Blood and motor oil reeked pungently from over the double concrete and chain-link fence. From up on the wall, she saw a mottled gray and brown tom.

The one from earlier.

"He's like a specter of death, am I right?" Patches whispered.

Poppy nodded. He paced to one end of the wall, then down to another. Jag paid him no mind, but slowly started leading the cadre up over a ladder. As they reached the top, the world seemed to grow quiet. All Poppy could hear was her heartbeat and a distant siren. A small brown she-cat called Birdie leaped confidently over the edge. A single shriek cut the air. Her body, mauled tip to tail was tossed back over the wall and landed in the mud. Ice looked at it a moment and then yowled.

"Bloodclan, attack!"

An explosion of adrenaline fueled her crash down through three empty boxes and one cat. Landing hard, a large black tom jumped on her and started biting her neck. She pulled her head away as her tried, so instead of sinking his fangs into her spine, he pierced skin and scruff. She slammed him against a wall, but he wrenched away and pinned her under his greater bulk and sliced her stomach with his claws. Poppy let out a yelp of pain and went limp. He grinned, but his smile quickly faded when she rocketed to her paws and collided with his throat. She bit in, and tasted the rich metallic tang of blood. Blood was everywhere, fogging her vision and filling her lungs. She started to feel lightheaded and hazy.

"Let go. He's gone!" yowled Tusker, and she felt herself dropping the tom's dead body on the ground and staring at it dully. She rarely killed, but now she was so stunned she couldn't feel anything. Suddenly she saw out of the corner of her eye, a sun-golden pelt. Shabbal! She lurched at him, and dealt a clumsy swipe. But it was like trying to hit the air. Suddenly she wanted to curl and go to sleep on the ground. Glancing down, Poppy saw with immense calm an organ was showing through her slit pelt. It pulsed slightly and was a dark purple. Liver, maybe? Or spleen, or bladder, or. . . .

Clay was squeezing a rag into her mouth, the water musty and dirty. Her stomach had been patched up with a bit of cloth bound tight. It was soft and clean-smelling, unlike many of the rags she usually slept in. She shifted, and her stomach still hurt a lot, but it was much better than before. There were no official Medicine Cats, but some older she-cats were kept around as healers and midwives. Again the elderly cat appeared.

"What's your name, ma'am?" Mewed Poppy weakly. She tried to stand up, but her paws felt squishy and she wanted to lie down again.

"Albuca." she said. "It's an herb."

Chapter Four: The Dam Breaks

When she felt good enough to go outside, Poppy struggled to her feet. She felt a little bit dizzy, but Ice had demanded every cat that went with Jag to come forward. Patches had nudged her forward, and slowly she settled in front of the leader's seat. Blood oozed from a gash in her shoulder, and she felt nauseous. Ice glowered from his perch up above.

"I will not take mutiny. Jag growled, lashing his tail. Tusker fluffed up his fur and unsheathed his claws. Clay sat, his tail more mangled than before. Birdie's mate, Dynamo, was licking her body and mourning. But only Ice had a dangerous fury in his eyes, and only Ice had power over all their lives.

"Where's Jag?" Yowled a skinny brown tom.

As if on cue, the black and white deputy was dragged onto the florescent-lit platform by a white and brown she-cat. She kicked his ear and gave a hiss of contempt.

"That's Ice's favorite mate, Foxy. Tell me how much I _hate_ her." Patches whispered in Poppy's ear. The she-act was pretty, but her green eyes and soft pelt could not conceal her nasty personality. Jag was restrained by some kind of dog leash, and when Foxy smacked him, all he could do was moan. Tusker stepped forward, a look of pain and concern on his face.

"This is madness, Ice. This is barbarism."

Ice grinned.

"Since when were we civilized, Tusker?"

Tusker slowly took a step back. Poppy felt her fur grow cold. Had Ice lost his mind completely?

Jag whimpered as Foxy smacked his muzzle and then laughed as he feebly tried to snatch her tail. Tusker leaped up onto the leader's platform and grabbed Foxy, pulling her down onto the floor of the cave.

"Ow, ow, you crazy lunatic, what are you doing. NO STOP IT HELP ICE HE HURTS!" Her cry was cut short as Tusker bit down briskly onto her throat, cutting off her air and her life. He let her body fall to the clammy floor, a look of shock still on her face. Tusker seemed colder somehow, but he gave a glance at Poppy, and she saw profound sadness in his eyes. Ice leaped down, past Jag's writhing form and landed solidly on Tusker's lithe back. Poppy tried to bolt forward to help her friend, but her injuries made each step difficult. Finally she felt too weak and collapsed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clay run forward and help Tusker. Ice fought hard, but Tusker slashed his stomach with unsheathed paws and Ice made a sickly sound. Covered with blood and entrails, Tusker stepped into the flickering light. Looking down into the frightened crowd, he growled.

"I am Tusker, fourth leader of Bloodclan. Will anyone challenge me?"

No one shifted.

"I appoint Pilate, mark leader of the east side, as my deputy. And we will fight tonight."

Poppy looked up into her friend's eyes, and they were as cold as ice.

Chapter Five: A Flight To The Clans

Poppy pulled her aside.

"Look, someone wants to see you."

Weaving through the crowd, she was led to the scrawny cat that had challenged Ice those many moons before. She was nursing a litter of five, and it she lay stretched out silently on dank stones. She slowly opened a bloodshot green eye and spoke.

"I can't fight in this battle. I know as a warrior of Bloodclan it is my duty, but if I die then they will die, and we shall have no one left. You must know something."

Poppy leaned in closely.

"There was a handsome tomcat that came with Tigerstar. He was large, and golden-striped. Although I was supposed to only see Scourge, I met him while the leader's were meeting. He was very friendly, and strong and brave, all of the wildcats are. Well. . . . these kits are his. Not a Bloodclan cat's. So now I have an idea. Go find their father and have his clan fight for them."

"Would he do that?"

"Jaggedtooth is a good cat. He could convince the leader, I suppose. Please!"

The strength of her conviction touched Poppy, and she decided it was worth a shot.

"You need to come."

Clay ran as fast as he could, watching for danger as Poppy carried the cat, (her name was Lily,) to the border. The trees loomed large and threatening, like huge monsters stalking in the twilight.

"This place is creepy." Muttered Clay. "Only full of foxes and kit-eating weirdos." A rank smell, of cats vaguely known, wreathed the towering pines. Clay peed against a tree.

"Hey! Don't make trouble!"

"Yeah, okay."

Lily managed a weak smile. The forest grew denser, and soon the only sign of home was the lights weakly illuminating the horizon. Poppy whimpered at the smell of blood. But it was only a crow-food squirrel, so they kept moving. It was getting so dark that Poppy and Lily could barely see Clay, when suddenly they stumbled into a brilliantly lit clearing, a large shallow pit brilliantly lit by fireflies.

A large white tomcat with black paws turned with a glare.

"Welcome, scum, to the Shadowclan camp."

"Good going." Whispered Lily.

Clay ran up to the monochromatic cat and yowled.

"We demand to see the leader of Shadowclan!" he said, all his fur puffed out. A thin gray tom grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground.

"How dare you speak so rudely to our leader!" he hissed around a mouth of scruff. "I am Cinderfur, deputy of our clan. The cat you accosted is Blackstar."

Lily quietly slipped off Poppy's back, and made her way behind a rock. Jaggedtooth spoke with her in urgent hushed tones. He looked worried but also frustrated, as if he would rather just go eat a frog and forget about this. A red she-cat narrowed her eyes and walked over to Jaggedtooth. After listening to more pleading from Lily, she went back to Blackstar's ledge. Clay hissed and spat while tussling with Cinderfur.

"Blackstar, these cats are trying to help us."

Blackstar looked at her quizzically.

"What do you mean, Russetfur?" He mewed.

"There are strange cats coming from twolegplace. They are like a cult, and they swear no fealty to any but one cat, Shabbal. They want to breed a master race of poly-dactyl cats that have twoleg-like paws. I heard they want to expand into your forest."

"Is this true?"

Russetfur nodded. Blackstar sighed.

" All right. I will take some of my best warriors to check this out. But I will **not** put all the clans on alert! I want Russetfur, Jaggedtooth, Flintfang, Fernshade, Jumpfoot and Ratscar. Cinderfur is in control of the camp until I get back. Expect us back late."

Clay was released and got to his paws. He pushed past several Shadowclan cats and made it to the front of the patrol.

"You had better not be screwing around." Hissed Blackstar irritably.

"You had better be prepared." Clay said in response.

Chapter Six: House Of Wolves

Leaping quickly over gable and rooftop, Poppy ran, followed by Shadowclan warriors. They were making their way to the Claws, smokestacks as their guide. Blackstar sniffed the air.

"I smell blood and gasoline. Are we close?"

"I think so. Yes, that's it!"

Slowly they leaped down gutterpipes and boxes before Blackstar finally reached the great factory door. He stuck his head inside. . . . .

and let out a kit-like shriek.

Poppy pushed past him. To her horror, the entire raiding party Bloodclan had sent out was decimated. Cats lay in blood, draped across machinery, hanging on the great disused ceiling fan.

"TUSKER!" Poppy yowled frantically. Clay sniffed.

"He's wounded, but his blood smears make me think he escaped outside."

"FLINTFANG, JUMPFOOT! Go track down the rogue that escaped and take him to camp! Send reinforcements!" He stepped forward, surrounded by the silent dead.

"My brother Shabbal, show yourself."

Dynamo lay on a box next to Poppy's head, and she turned away. This ended his grieving, presumably. Locked in his claws was an unfamiliar cat. Looking over the fallen, Poppy realized that half were cult members. How many were left?

"Yes?"

A large golden cat, the same as before, came from the shadows. He was scored with many wounds, but still his fur was sleek and shiny.

"I know that this looks terrible, but the gods will be pleased with these blood offerings." Four or five battered loners skulked about behind him. "I see that you are a blessed brother." he commented, examining Blackstar's paws. "Come to my perch."

They walked slowly up to a suspended pallet crate many tail-lengths from the floor.

"You should sell out these lesser cats, brother. If you join me, the prophet Shabbal, then I shall give you power in this life, and the next."

"I-"

"You are a very sturdy and handsome cat. You should join my breeding program and help build this master species."

"Come closer." Blackstar's mew was a whisper.

"All right. But I have to clean up this disgraceful mess first." Shabbal willingly leaned in, ears pricked.

"Oh-" Blackstar half-turned, and slid his claws across Shabbal's sleek neck. A moment later, he kicked Shabbal's dead body from it's lofty perch.

"I expect all loners to clear within the next three days. This area is annexed by Shadowclan."

And the muddy little gray-brown tomcat quietly dragged Shabbal's body into the rainy night.

THE END.


End file.
